


ROBERT'S REBELLION

by ConnorIsSad



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Aegon and Rhaenys Targaryen Live, Alternate Universe - Rhaegar Won, F/F, F/M, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Lyanna Stark Lives, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:35:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24728329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConnorIsSad/pseuds/ConnorIsSad
Summary: A tournament is held at the mighty fortress of Harrenhal causing many unexpected scenarios, romances and rivalries to arise. Will Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark live out their forbidden love tale or will Robert Baratheon cave his mighty hammer upon Prince Rhaegar's chest?This story delves into the POV's of many characters in the ASOIAF world and their own plot lines during the rebellion. This is book one of a planned series.All canon characters and plot line rights belong to G. R. R. M and HBO. Original characters and plot lines belong to me. I make no money from these fan-fictions, they're just for fun :)I would like to mention that this story is Rhaegar/Lyanna friendly, if that isn’t your cup of tea then just don’t read. I also like Elia Martell’s character greatly and find her story very saddening so she will have her own POV’s and storyline in this also.I plan on updating weekly :)
Relationships: Aerys II Targaryen/Rhaella Targaryen, Alystaer Dayne(original character)/janei Fowler (original character), Ashara Dayne/Ned Stark, Barbrey Dustin/Brandon Stark, Brandon Stark/Catelyn Tully Stark, Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark, Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Elia Martell/Rhaegar Targaryen, Joanna Lannister/Tywin Lannister--mentioned, Jon Arryn/Lysa Tully Arryn, Lewyn Martell/Original Female Character(s), Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen, Lyarra Stark/Rickard Stark--mentioned, Lysa Tully Arryn/Petyr Baelish, Oberyn Martell/Ellaria Sand, Robert Baratheon/Lyanna Stark
Comments: 9
Kudos: 53





	1. Lyanna I | harrenhal

Lyanna gazed up at the enormous castle as she rode atop her mare. The largest castle in all the Seven Kingdoms according to the  maester back at Winterfell. Old Nan had told her and her brothers frightening tales about  Harrenhal when they were children, she was the only one to be unbothered by them, but every tale came rushing back as she studied the burnt black bricks, the unnerving gargoyles and the broken pillars that stretched up into the sky.

Her brother Ned steered his horse beside her. He wore the typical look of House Stark with his chalky pale skin, brown hair and steely grey eyes that oftentimes held a judgmental look to them. Her oldest brother Brandon’s eyes were also grey, but very dark. Lyanna’s eyes were blue-grey like that of her younger brother Ben.

Ned had been fostered in the Eyrie under the banner of Lord Arryn since he was a boy and had taken on much of his honorable and wise nature that her other brothers lacked. He at least worshipped the old gods of the north despite his southern tutorage, something the south could not strip from him.

“It is more intimidating than I thought,” she admitted.

Ned breathed deeply and stared up the castle himself. “It covers three times as much ground as Winterfell. I don’t understand the need for such things. It would be better suited for giants not men,”

Lyanna kept quiet. She did not like  Harrenhal . A place with such a dark history could not possibly harbor any goodness. They would be there for ten days. Ten days in such a terrible place.

“Brandon asks that you ride in the carriage with the other ladies,” there was hesitation in his voice. He knew her too well. 

“Tell him I will not,” she urged her mare away from Ned.

Their father remained within the walls of Winterfell and sent off his children to the tourney with a party of northern nobility, servants and loyal guardsmen. He entrusted Brandon to represent him in his absence and he had been incredibly demanding of his siblings the entire trip south.

“Robert will be there, Lya,” Ned told her softly. 

“And?”

He sighed. “You must act properly for him. You will be wed shortly. You are a girl no longer.”

They should have given up trying the mold her into some stupid ladylike girl years ago. She would never be interested in handsome knights, she tripped over her own feet when she danced, poetry was too intricate to make sense of and she couldn’t stitch properly and she had no desire to learn how to as she simply did not care for such things. 

It was easier when she was smaller. Her father didn’t care so much. She could play outside, practice archery, race her brothers on horseback and join them on hunting trips in the  Wolfswood . She rode better than all of her brothers but she hardly ever had the opportunity to show off.

"What am I now then?" She asked spitefully. "A boy? If you took off my dress and squinted hard enough, I might just pass for one." 

A grimace crossed over his face. “You know what I mean, Lyanna. You aren’t a child, stop acting like one. Robert will be here and it’s expected that you spend time together so you are not strangers when you wed. It’s likely the only reason father even let you come,”

Lyanna scowled and looked away. She harbored no love, or even like, for her betrothed. He was Ned’s best friend, fostered alongside him in the Eyrie and his constant companion. He claimed to be desperately in love with her despite having never met. Betrothed or not, she did not love him and doubted she ever would.

She kicked her mare into a gallop and sped ahead of her brothers. She called Ned shout that she returned but she ignored him. 

She felt a wave of guilt for judging  Harrenhal so harshly as she rode through the gates. The castle itself remained burnt and imposing, but within the castle walls was an atmosphere alive with  colour and laughter and excitement. Small children were running around in wonder, men attempted to court young maiden by the castle walls and flocks of nobility scurried around with their  tongues alight with gossip.

Lyanna dismounted her mare and looked around in reverence. It was nothing like she had ever seen in the North, not even White Harbour, the largest city in the North, was quite as exciting.

Ned appeared through the gates and hopped off his horse. He looked around then stomped over to her, pulling tightly on the reins of his horse to make it follow him. "You should have listened to me!"

"When have I ever listened to you, Ned?" She asked amusedly. "I would expect you're used to it by now."

Ned called a stableboy over to tend to their horses. "Father would be upset with you. You will tarnish House Stark's reputation if you don't behave."

Lyanna looked away, unsure if she felt like crying or lashing out angrily. She folded her arms over her chest. "When are we going inside?"

"When everyone else arrives in the courtyard." He gave her an apologetic look but before he could say anything more a booming voice called his name.

They both glanced behind them and saw a man running over. He had coal-black hair that was tied back and his eyes were bright blue and slightly bloodshot. He wore a dark blue silk doublet, embroidered with silver and lined with grey fur.

Ned grinned and pulled the man into a brotherly hug. Lyanna watched silently, wanting nothing more than to fetch her horse and ride all the way back to Winterfell. It wasn’t difficult to understand who the man must have been. 

She remembered the day, just one year ago, when Ned returned from the Eyrie with a letter from Lord Baratheon claiming he desired her hand in marriage. She was thirteen then and had gotten her moon’s blood just a week beforehand. She had been keeping it secret, fearing lords would start coming forward asking to wed her and her father would send her off with the richest. Her father swiftly sent off a letter to Lord Robert when he found out, accepting his desire to have her hand in marriage.

They had never even met but he seemed insistent and desperate to marry her. She wasn’t sure why; she was hardly the sort of girl who would make a good wife and she wasn’t very beautiful. She had a plain face, chewed nails and her hair resembled a bird’s nest most days. He could have his choice of any stunning lady he wanted, yet, for some reason, he chose her.

She had convinced herself that the day of her wedding would never arrive, but that was a naive way to think. The day was almost upon them and her future husband was standing right before her.

It frightened Lyanna, having to leave her home and brothers, to not be told another of Old Nan's tales. To be whisked away south and leave her northern life behind. She pushed those feelings aside. She knew it could be worse, far worse, she could have been a Greyjoy twin or a Bolton who wanted her hand.

Lord Robert turned to Lyanna and pushed out his chest impressively. He took her hand and kissed it, leaving a slobbery spot on her hand. She wanted to roll her eyes but Ned was watching her carefully. 

“You’re even more beautiful than I imagined,” his intense blue stare never left hers as he spoke.

She could not quite judge what his eyes spoke. Perhaps, he was truly in love with her as he claimed, maybe it was just lust. Lyanna could not tell. Was there even a difference? Lord Robert was handsome, she knew that. She heard women swooned over him and men admired him and strove to impress him. 

"You’re beautiful too." Lyanna said sardonically once he released his hold on her wrist. She wiped the back of her hand on her dress and glanced to her side to make sure nobody was watching them. 

She looked back at him upon  realising she probably spoke too loudly. She had heard he had a quick temper and didn’t want to be the target of his fury should he be offended. To her luck, Robert threw his head back and laughed drunkenly. Ned didn't miss the opportunity to shoot her a warning look. 

"Seems although she’s also wittier than I imagined," Robert said with a wide grin, bumping Ned in the arm. Her brother nodded despite looking unamused. "Though more beautiful than ever."

She curtsied lazily, knowing she wouldn't impress anyone by being mannerless. "Thank you, my lord."

"No less than you deserve, my lady," Robert said and turned his attention back to Ned.

Ben came up behind her laughing and grabbed her shoulders, pulling her around. 

“Ben!” 

He was only a year younger than her but he was still treated like an infant at the breast. Nobody ever pestered him about acting maturely or to go off and marry some wench. They were best friends and always had been, but Lyanna oftentimes felt envious and jealous of her brother.

Ben impersonated a maid and mockingly kissed his hand between spouts of giggles.

"Benjen!" She exclaimed, using his full name. She reached out to hit him but he ducked under her fist and ran off.

"Come here!" She demanded. 

He didn't turn back. 

"Don't follow h--” Ned began, but she was already running after him. 

They were soon settled in their tents within a maze of hundreds of other tents housing nobles that were attending the tourney. Lord Jon Arryn found them and greeted Ned and Brandon. He asked how their trip was and asked if they needed assistance with anything. He helped the servants bring their chests into their tents while Ned and Lyanna helped put the sheets and furs on their beds.

Ned denied Lord Robert’s offer to go drinking, claiming to be tired and sore from their trip and wishing to sleep before the feast that evening. Brandon vanished to find his southern friends, leaving the servants to sort out his tent. Ben stood outside Ned’s tent and called out for him for a few minutes but received no answer, so he decided to go and pester Lyanna as she unpacked her chest.

She grew tired of her brother after a few hours and left her tent to go explore more of the castle grounds. She knew it was risky to be wandering alone at a southern tourney but there were people everywhere and glowing lanterns kept everything as bright as daytime when the sun  disappeared .

She walked almost halfway around the castle, continuously surprised when the castle walls never seemed to end. She kept close to the crowds and avoided  drunks. The further away from the tents she ventured, the smaller the crowds were, but she still didn't turn back and everything remained fine until a scream tore through the night and made her go still. 

"Stop it!" 

She realized the scream had come from not much further off the path she was on. She stood there in the dark contemplating the risk and might have just turned away if the person had not screamed again. It was a scream for help.

She ran towards the screams and crept up behind a pillar to try and see what was happening. Her breath caught in her chest as she saw the tourney field, even in the dark and the seats empty of an audience, it was a magnificent sight. 

She heard the scream again, louder this time. Peeking around the pillar, she saw they were coming from a boy curled up on the ground, knees tucked to his chest as three young boys circled him kicking and hitting the quivering body. 

Her heart skipped a beat and she froze where she stood. The boy cried out and Lyanna knew she had to do something. She could not just turn around and run away and leave him at the mercy of his attackers. She took a deep breath and quietly moved closer, hiding underneath a pavilion. 

The boy tried to get up and fight back with a three-pronged spear, but he was shoved back onto the ground and his weapon tossed aside. “Frog-eating cunt!” He tried to reach out for his spear, just out of his reach, but it was kicked further away, then he was kicked and his face stomped on. 

There was a faded sigil of House Reed on his bronze doublet. House Reed were vassals of the North and amongst her father’s most loyal bannermen. 

She grabbed a tourney sword that was learning against a bench under the pavilion and charged forward. "That's my father's man your kicking!"

The attackers turned around to face her, evidently unintimidated. Now that she could see their faces, Lyanna became aware that they were younger than fifteen, only boys, but stronger and taller than herself and the beaten man. 

"You think you scare us?" One of them spat. He had an ugly upturned nose and thin blonde hair befitting of an elderly man. His foul personality must have bled into his looks. 

Lyanna tightened her grip around the tourney sword and held it tensely. The sword was taller than herself so she found difficulty in keeping it balanced but she tried her best.

She might not have scared the boys but they didn't scare her either. They were just bullies, beating on those unable to fight back. It was dishonorable and sickening and the sort of behavior she expected from a southerner. 

She glanced down at the  crannogman on the ground. He looked older than herself and the three boys, a thin stubble on his chin marking his ascent into manhood. Blood was dripping down his face and into his mouth. He tried to lift himself up but fell back down with a pained grunt.

"Just a little girl,"

Lyanna looked back up at the three boys. She didn't know which one had spoken, but a short plump one had moved closer to her so it was probably him. He looked hardly Ben's age with a childish round face, light blue eyes, and small hands. 

It was quite sad that people could be so horrible. She wondered whether their parents knew what they were doing. Maybe they didn't have parents that cared, maybe they didn't have parents at all. Lyanna and her brothers lost their mother when they were young and their father didn't care much to be a father, but none of them turned out to be bullies. 

The tallest boy stepped forward. There was a weasel-look about him that she had only seen with the  Freys of the  Riverlands . She supposed he must be one of Lord Walder' sons or grandsons. 

"You can't tell me what to do, girl!" He said, moving over to her with uneasy swaying steps. "I can do what I want with you though,"

"Do you know who I am?" Lyanna asked, deciding to hide her worry and appear unperturbed. 

Inside, she was shaking. She was much more aware of herself then she ever had been before. She was holding the tourney sword so tightly she could feel her hand begin slipping from sweat. "I'm Lyanna Stark of Winterfell, daughter of Lord Rickard Stark. Do you know how badly you will be punished for harming me?" She said everything in one breath.

The boys didn't seem to care and just laughed; however, she did see the Reed boy's eyes widen. 

"I'm sure there's a price I could pay." The ugly boy with the upturned nose laughed. " Your father would probably make you my bride to save your  honor if I shoved it up your  arse ,"

She angrily lifted the tourney stick. "Mines bigger. It might just reach your brain. I doubt you have a brain though, so you probably won't feel a thing."

The boy looked abashed and confused for a moment then the anger washed over his features and he lunged at her.

Lyanna quickly stepped out of his path, lifted up the tourney stick up with both hands, and whacked it against his head. The boy's eyes went wide and he tripped over his own feet, falling into the pavilion and slamming his head on a wooden bench. 

Her heart caught in her throat as he laid unmoving on the ground, but before she could go and see if he was alright, the chubby boy ran toward her. He looked heavy on his feet, and his puffy red cheeks and light blue eyes made him seem very unthreatening. Lyanna, full of adrenaline, flung the tourney stick at him. It slipped out of her sweaty hands and plummeted forwards but still slammed sideways into the  boy's head causing him to cry out and run away, holding his face and not looking back once.

The last boy stood there watching her for a couple of moments. “Mad cunt!” he exclaimed then ran after the chubby boy.

She stepped away from the pavilion where the boy laid unmoving, abandoned by his companions. Her heart was thumping in her chest, she could hear the blood rushing in her ears, sweat stuck her curls to her face and her entire body was shaking. She was scared still even though the boys were long gone.

She looked down at the beaten boy, remembering he was still in the ground and in pain. She offered her hand to help him get up but he simply stared at her in a daze. 

"My Lady—" 

"Do you want to get up or not?" She asked, sounding more impatient than she would've liked. 

Her voice was hoarse and her throat was dry. She didn't want to loiter outside any further and longed to feel safe and sit by a fire with her father's guardsmen nearby. 

The boy seemed to finally notice her hand and his face flushed. He quickly allowed himself to be helped by her onto his feet. "Th-Th-Thank you, My Lady,"

"Of course," Lyanna replied breathlessly. "What's your name? I noticed the lizard-lion sigil on your doublet. Are you of House Reed or one of their guardsmen?" 

He nodded quickly, looking at her with wide green eyes. "Yes. I am H-Howland. Howland Reed. Your father is my l-l-liege lord, My Lady. 

Lyanna wasn’t surprised. She doubted a guardsman would be so small. She looked at his face, the bruise on his cheek, the blood dripping down his forehead and his busted lip and felt a sting of pity for the boy. “You cannot walk around like that, My Lord, you will be beaten worse. Come with me. I can help you,”

"That's a g-generous offer, My Lady, but I c-can't accept any help. I am m-more than c-capable of healing m-myself. I d-don't want to be a burden. I have supplies back in the forest,"

"The forest? Is that where you're staying?" She asked. "Why aren't you staying in a tent?"

Lord Howland looked away in shame, his face turning red again. "I came here by my own will; I never sent any ravens to Lord  Whent beforehand. I'm fine sleeping outside. Only for a few nights then I will return home, and I have food—"

"Nonsense!" Lyanna interrupted him. "Come back to my tent with me and I can introduce you to my brothers. Are you here with anyone else?"

"No, my lady," Lord Howland murmured. "I'm h-here alone," He looked over at the pavilion  worriedly . “Is that boy dead? Did you kill him?”

Lyanna swallowed and stepped over. The boy still wasn’t moving. Maybe he had just been knocked out by the tourney sword she hit him with, maybe he was too drunk to get back. She prodded him with her foot and he woke up with a frantic yelp.

He was not dead. She was not a murderer.

He grabbed Lyanna’s ankle and tried yanking her down. She jumped back and kicked him in the face. There was a crunch and blood seeped out of his nose. He was unmoving on the ground again but she could hear him breathing heavily.

"He's fine." She sighed, walking back over to Lord Howland and taking a deep breath. 

She glanced up at the stands, there were banners and bright tapestries that she could see through the darkness. She saw her house’s banner in the breeze and for a moment it felt although she had drifted off into some childish dream where she was a brave knight that protected innocents and was cheered for by an admiring audience in the stands. 

They walked back to the camp together. He would sometimes whimper when he put too much pressure on his left foot or when they walked too quickly and Lyanna, despite his protests, allowed him to hold on to her for support. He hardly weighed more than Ben.

"Who's this?"

Lyanna looked up and saw Ned enter her tent with a concerned look. He stared at Howland seated on her bed suspiciously then back at Lyanna. "What did you do to him?"

"This is Howland Reed," she stated, glaring at her brother for his accusatory assumption. "I didn't touch him. He was attacked by some boys on the tourney field. I scared them off then brought him here to mend his wounds."

Lord Howland flushed and turned away from Ned when he moved in to examine him. She assumed he must be ashamed to have been rescued by a girl which was stupid. Would be rather be dead or beaten bloody than have a girl protect him?

"I think he broke his nose," Lyanna explained. "And his lip is split open pretty badly."

“Both of you stay here,” Ned ordered. “I will find some linen and water and we can help him properly,” 

"Thank you for your kindness, my lord," Lord Howland said, sounding rather overwhelmed.

"You are my father's vassal," Ned said as he headed out. "You're one of the North and we protect our own,"

Brandon came in not long later, smiling at them and not seeming too bothered by Lord Reed’s bruised and bloody face. “Inviting boys into your tent already, Lya? Who’s this?”

"Howland Reed, my lord," Lord Howland said weakly, bowing his head.

"A Crannogman?" Brandon asked, swaying on his feet as he walked closer. "Didn't think they were your ideal sort of man,"

She rolled her eyes. "Remind me to inform the guards to forbid Brandon entry, won't you, Lord Howland?"

"Aye, my lady" He replied meekly.

Brandon laughed and leaned against her chest of clothes and other belongings that were piled on top of each other. 

“Shut up,” Lyanna snapped, looking back at Lord Howland who was blushing red. “He’s hurt,”

Ned arrived back in her tent accompanied by Benjen. He pushed past Brandon, who stumbled over his feet and almost fell, and placed a dripping bucket of water and some linen on the floor. 

"That's all I could find. It should be enough,”

"Lord Howland," Benjen said, followed by a quick respectful nod of his head. He sat down next to them on the bed. 

"My lord," Lord Howland replied shakily. 

Lyanna folded one of the strips of linen and dipped it in the water. She gently lifted it to his face and cleaned off the blood, being careful not to agitate any of his cuts or scrapes.

"Did you recognize the men who attacked you?" Benjen asked, seemingly aware of what happened. Ned had probably told him. "What happened to them? Were they highborn?"

"I know what they look like, but not who they are,"

“I’m sure one had to be a Frey,” Lyanna stated. “He had that weasel-look about him. Remember Lord Walder? He must be one of his sons,”

"Of course, a Frey was involved with this," Ned scowled. "Never met a group of men more dishonorable. Do you think they were baseborn?" 

"Does it matter?" Benjen asked. 

Lyanna handed Lord Howland a strip of soaking linen. "Hold it to your nose. I don’t think it’s broken, but still bruised. There isn’t much we can do about it but I know that cold water and ice can help numb the pain until it heals.”

"Speaking from experience," Benjen teased.

“I still do not forgive you for that,” said Lyanna, reminiscing over the time they had climbed the heart tree within the walls of the  godswood and he had decided to push her. She landed on her face and her nose was bruised purple for nearly a whole moon’s turn. 

"I was eight." 

"You still pushed me," 

"Can we please focus on helping the boy," Ned requested tiredly. 

“I’m  twenty-one ,” Lord Howland murmured.

Lyanna and her brothers took an instant liking to Lord Howland and invited him to spend the rest of the evening with them where they laughed over insipid matters and played childish games. They discovered the young  crannogman had an interesting backstory, one she had not expected in the slightest, one that even had Ned listening to with an awed look on his face.

He claimed to have grown up hunting, fishing, climbing trees and learning the magic of the  crannogmen . His father died the year before of an illness and Lord Howland became the Lord of Greywater Watch at just twenty years of age. He evaded the Twins and paddled down the Green Fork to visit the Isle of Faces where he stayed all winter. He was returning home to Greywater Watch when he heard of the tourney and decided to get some rest at  Harrenhal before continuing on his journey North.

Lyanna had never questioned her belief in the Old Gods and she cherished Old Nan’s tales about the Others and Bran the Builder, but that was all they were, only tales, her father always said so. There was something in the way which Lord Howland described everything, the way his mossy eyes filled with such belief and reverence, and the way he claimed to have witnessed all of these magical things that had Lyanna reconsidering all she knew. 

"You must attend to the feast this evening." Lyanna insisted. "It's marks the beginning of the tourney. It will be great night with hot food and wine. You must,”

“I cannot.”

"Why not?" Ben asked. "You need to come. We can talk about more about the Isle of Faces and we can introduce you to our father’s bannermen. Nobody has seen any of your house for nearly a decade. They will all wish to meet you, Howland, and won’t believe that you are here without proof,”

"I only came here to observe the tournament... not to participate."

"You really should come." Ned told him. 

Howland brushed his brown hair behind his ear and looked down. "I can't be seen amongst highborn. I have only the clothes on my back and I haven’t properly bathed all winter. The guards will take me away when they see me.” 

"I might have some clothes you could fit into."” Ben said  immediately . “And we could call the servants to draw you a bath."

"I don't know—"

"Come on," Brandon whined. "We can have your hair trimmed too, if you would like?"

"Please?" Lyanna begged, smiling at her new friend. 

Howland sighed, a small smile finding his lips. "Fine."

The boys left her tent with Howland to prepare for the feast. Lyanna called for the servants to draw her a bath and her handmaids came to help her into her gown and style her hair. They were thrilled at the concept of dressing her up like a doll as Lyanna hardly wore dresses, preferring to borrow her brother’s doublets and breeches, much to their annoyance. Whenever she did wear dresses, the were not extravagant in the slightest and she could easily dress herself. 

The gown she wore was made of light blue silk, made in the southern style, with winter roses embroidered in a slightly darker blue around the neckline. The sleeves were laces on and had a space to show off the white of her chemise underneath. It was made in the southern style and was stiff and uncomfortable but embroidered winter roses made it more bearable, in fact, she believed it to be the most beautiful gown she had ever seen. 

Her father had given it to her on her fourteenth  name day and had asked her to wear it will in the south.

“All the most important lords and ladies in the realm will be there,” Lord Rickard had said, “You are the Lady of Winterfell now that your mother has gone. You must be dressed nicely to represent your house and your late mother, not like some lowly kitchen maid, you might just be mistake for one,”

She stood silently through her handmaids prodding and giggling. 

“The gown is stunning, milady,”

“The most beautiful silk. I’ve never seen anything quite like it,”

Her hair was brushed thoroughly and cascaded down her back in shiny brown ringlets with a beaded hair net loosely strung over. It was a simple style that seemed to disappoint her handmaids, but Lyanna would sooner jump from a tower than have a hundred twist braids, feathers and ribbons pinned over her head.


	2. Eddard I | the quiet wolf

The feast was held within the Hall of a Hundred Hearths. A thin man in a long blue robe asked for their names then directed them to their tables. Among the other northerners present at the feast were the Umbers, Hornwoods, Dustins, Manderlys and Mormonts. 

Much of the castle was cracked and charred and uninhabitable. The ground the castle stood on was all hard dirt and rock and grass didn’t grow for yards. Although Harrenhal was magnificent in size, the living space was down to a few solars, some bedchambers, a whirling maze of catacombs and a massive kitchen the size of a hall.

Howland Reed accompanied Ned and his siblings to their table and sat amongst them. He looked much nicer wearing a blue doublet borrowed from Benjen with his hair trimmed neatly. 

Ned found himself looking around the hall nervously many times. He felt intimidated and unsure. The fanciness of the southern highborns, the glistening chandeliers, the tapestries of Tyrell, Lannister, Baratheon, Martell and many other influential houses hanging from the walls of the massive hall made him feel small. Like a goldfish in a sea of sharks. 

Brandon only had to sit down and all of his friends gathered around him, eager to hear from him and laugh together. Lyanna took Howland off to meet Maege Mormont and Benjen moved between talking with Ned and trying to include himself with Brandon’s friends.

Ned sat silently at the table for a few minutes, looking around the hall at all the highborn people and famous knights until Robert leapt up behind him and pulled him into a painfully tight hug. He could smell the strong scent of alcohol on his breath even though the food hadn’t even been served yet.

He hoped he wouldn’t drink much more so he could keep him close for company that night.

"Why aren’t you sitting with your bannermen?" Ned asked once he was released from the hug.

Robert scoffed as he sat down beside him. “Why should I sit with them? They just want to impress me with tales from battle or how large their fortunes are. All power-hungry cretins. I can’t stand that. I’d rather sit with you.”

“Where’s Stannis?”

“I left him at Storms End,”

Robert had two younger brothers. Stannis and Renly. Stannis was much different to Robert in comparison, silent and serious and seldom ever smiled. Reply was hyper and athletic, eager to run around and do new things, but still a boy and tucked away at Storms End with Maester Cressen and his wet nurse.

“Why?” Ned asked. “He might not want to be left alone with Renly. You should have brought him.”

"Brought him?" Robert laughed at the suggestion. "And then what? Bore to death? He'd be glad with that... always criticising the way I rule my own castle. As if he could do any better."

"He's your brother. He needs you."

Ned disliked being dragged into Robert's troubles with his brothers but he hated seeing the two boys being excluded like how he oftentimes felt with his siblings. 

He often didn't voice an opinion when Robert quarrelled with his brothers as to not overstep in their friendship. The fights were usually intense in the moment but short lasting and were quick to fade like the morning mist. 

"You're my brother, Ned." Robert sighed. He looked over at the bench were Stannis was sitting and said, "He hates it here. He'd prefer to be tucked away in Storms End with Renly. I shouldn't have brought him."

The doors to the Hall of a Hundred Hearths were opened and the sound of heavy footsteps grew closer. The king walked between two armoured kingsguard with billowing white cloaks. He was thin and not quite tall but he had a scary look about him with piercing lilac eyes, sallow sunken skin and thin silver hair that fell to his belt. 

The rest of the kingsguard followed behind him with the king's son Prince Rhaegar. The crown prince was much unlike his father; he still had the surreal dark purple eyes and silver-gold hair of a Targaryen, but it almost looked natural on him. 

Prince Rhaegar's wife, Elia of Dorne, followed behind him with their infant daughter Rhaenys on her hip. She looked unwell and sickly with dark rings under her eyes. The golden necklaces, bracelets and deep red and orange silks she wore barely concealed her tire and discomfort. 

Her swollen pregnant belly looked harsh on her thin frame and posture. He had heard she was bedridden for half a year after birthing Princess Rhaenys and it seemed like she was set for a similar experience once her second baby was born. 

Everyone watched the Targaryens with their breaths held until they reached the head table, joining Lord Whent and his family. The kingsgaurd stood behind them, spread out so they could see every point of the Hall. 

Prince Rhaegar quietly greeted the Whents then sat down with his wife next to Lord Whent's sons, keeping himself distanced from the king.

The king sat down in the middle of the high table, distancing himself from everyone at the table. He refused the maids that offered him food and drink and sat silently.

Once Lord Whent greeted everyone and thanked them for coming, the serving maids quickly walked over to the other tables with plates of wine and wine. The hall was quickly engulfed by the sounds of chatter as everyone began eating their dinner.

As the night went on, the enthusiastic chatter quietened as people grew tired. Some left their tables to join others and the rowdier men snuck out of the hall to participate in drunken wrestling matches.

Ned and Lyanna left Robert's company once he an those around them had gotten too drunk and rowdy. They sat together with Benjen and Lord Howland at the far end of their table, not talking much and just gazing around the Hall, saying whatever comes to their minds. 

Their peaceful chatter was interrupted when Brandon pounced over and slid into a chair beside them.

"You stink," Ned commented.

"Of what?" Brandon laughed.

"Beer," Lyanna said surely. "You better not be drunk,"

"Father will kick your arse all the way to the Wall if you are," Benjen added. 

Brandon laughed a bit, his face was flushed red and his brown curls damp and sticking to his forehead. There was a bruise on his chin, Ned noticed after a moment.

"What happened to you? Why do you have that bruise?" He asked quickly. "Did you get into a fight?"

"Calm down," Brandon chuckled, leaning back into his chair. "Some squire's foot flew up when he slipped on the grass and hit me. He was mortified—wouldn't stop apologising."

"Did you join those men wrestling?" Benjen asked eagerly.

Ned looked at his brothers in disapproval. "It's dangerous. You could've been hurt worse. It's raining outside. You're meant to be representing our house, not acting like a hooligan. Father trusted you."

"Father doesn't need to know everything." Brandon sighed, running his fingers through his damp hair. "They were getting too rough for me anyways so I left."

Lyanna picked up the jug of water and filled them each a goblet. Brandon drank his quickly in just a few gulps. The rest of them sipped their water sparely.

"Howland," Lyanna whispered, nudging the crannogman. 

"What?"

"That boy!" She pointed across the hall at a young man not too far from them. He was standing up at a table of many and laughing at something. 

"Is he one of the boys that attacked you, Lord Reed?" Ned asked. He looked at the other men gathered at the table. The boy was standing with a man who was wearing a faded grey cloak with twin towers on the back. The sigil of House Frey. 

"I think so." He stood tall and looked over at them. "I think he's a squire," 

The two other boys stood close to him; one had a black eye.

Howland looked away quickly. "Those are the boys. I recognize them.”

"Who are the other two squiring for?" Lyanna asked.

“One of them are a Blount.” Benjen offered.

"Blount _and_ Haigh," Ned confirmed. "Accompanied by a lowly Frey,"

"They're the ones who attacked me." Howland stated. "Those three. I saw their faces. It's them."

Benjen clapped his hand on Howland's shoulder. "I can lend you a horse and find you some armour. You can ride in the tourney and fight back your honour,"

"No," Howland almost squeaked. "I would just make a fool of myself,"

"Come on," Benjen insisted, nearly jumping from his seat in anticipation. "You must. It's only right that you do. Do you want to take your revenge

Howland's face went red. "Of course, but I'm no knight. I can't get on a horse without almost falling off onto my arse. How could I ride in tourney?"

"You're just going to let them get away them?" Lyanna demanded. "With what they did to you, Howland?"

Howland shrugged, looking down in shame. “It’s better than embarrassing myself in front of the entire realm.”

"That's not right." She grumbled.

"I don't have a choice," Howland protested.

Ned glanced across the hall to where most of the dornish were gathered, not wanting to get involved with the argument that was growing between his siblings and Howland Reed.

They were all laughing and talking between their tables and it seemed everyone was familiar with each other. They were different to most southerners in their less refined customs.

"Go on," Brandon whispered in his ear some minutes later. 

Ned jumped up in surprise, whipping his head sideways and almost banging it into his brother's. 

"Ask her to dance,"

"Who?" Ned asked stupidly. He didn't know if Brandon had actually noticed his reasoning for looking over at the dornish. If he hadn't figured it out then Ned wouldn't let him know.

"Ashara Dayne," Brandon stated knowingly.

"I don't even know who that is," Ned muttered awkwardly, playing with the sleeves of his doublet.

His lie mustn't have been very compelling as his siblings all forgot their argument with Howland and wore matching grins. He didn't know why he felt so shy all of a sudden. His siblings always teased him about all sorts of things but he'd never felt so sheepish.

He might not flirt with every attractive woman like Brandon but that didn't mean he didn't recognise beauty. He wasn't blind.

"The Sword of the Morning's sister?" Benjen asked, standing in his toes to look over the hall to see for himself. 

Lyanna grabbed the back of his doublet and pulled him back down into his seat. She herself then looked over quickly and discreetly. "She's pretty."

Ned nodded then realised what he had done and looked away. The dornish girl was just one of those people who stood out in a crowd and were uncommonly beautiful so you couldn't look away. 

He wasn't quite sure what it was about her that had him looking over every few moments. He didn't want to know either. He would be married of to some daughter of the North and be a bannerman for Brandon. He had no duty swooning over pretty dornish girls.

He'd seen her accept dances with a Prince Oberyn Martell, Lord Jon Connington and a knight of the kingsgaurd. They were all important people in the realm. There was no reason for her to have an interest in him. She would probably find Brandon interesting though. He was handsome and confident and the heir to the North. 

Brandon squeezed his shoulder supportingly. "Go on. Ask her to dance. Don't be shy, brother. You'll never get a girl if you don't man up."

"Stop it," Ned grumbled, shrugging Brandon's hand off his shoulder and standing up. "I'm not going over there. I'm tired anyway. When's the feast ending?"

"No," Lyanna giggled, grabbing him by the shoulders and pushing him back down into his seat. 

Ned groaned. "Why do you need to pester me so? Why must you bully me?"

"We're not bullying you, Ned." Brandon told him. "We just want you to happy... and maybe kiss a girl before you turn forty."

Ned blushed. "I have kissed a girl—remember? The kitchen maid back at Winterfell?"

"That doesn't count." Brandon said. "You were dared you to do it and it only lasted a second."

"I'm not like you!" Ned snapped. "I can't just walk up to girls and charm them to give up their honour with a stupid smile and some sweet words. And I don't want to. Why don't you ask her to dance? You're handsome and father's heir. She might just say yes."

Ned was terrified of being rejected. He always worried that Robert might unfriend him in favour of boisterous men or that his siblings would leave him behind in their activities.

Brandon exhaled a hard breath and stood up. "Fine then,"

Ned's eyes went wide. "What?"

He neatened his doublet. "I'm going to ask her to dance like you asked."

"Brandon?" Lyanna exclaimed, looking up at her eldest brother. 

Ned stood up to call after him but his brother was already walking far across the hall and he didn't want to cause a scene.

He sunk back down into his chair and felt his face turn even more red . His hair covered the tips of his eyelids and shielded him from seeing the faces of his siblings or Howland.

"Ass," Lyanna murmured, staring after him in disbelief. 

Ned found himself unsurprised. It wasn't unlike Brandon to take whatever he wanted regardless of how others felt. He didn't even bother to tell off his sister for swearing. Ned rarely drank but swallowed the wine in his goblet quickly.

"They're talking." Howland commented. 

Ned watched his siblings look over with perplexed looks on their faces. Ned didn't turn around. He just watched their reactions and tried to imagine what could be happening behind him. 

“So, Howland,” Ned coughed, trying to distract himself with some conversation. “Will you be riding in the tournament?”

“No, my lord,”

Lyanna glared at him. “But you have to!”

“No, I don’t!”

“They attacked you mercilessly. They deserve to be unseated in the tournament. It’s only right.”

“You do it then if it means to much to you,” Howland said annoyedly, almost mockingly. “You already knocked one of them out. Why not finish what you started?”

Lyanna scoffed, facing away from him pettily. 

Ned looked up at them a few minutes later. The table had gone silent and they were all looking behind him. "What?"

He looked over his shoulder and immediately turned away horrifiedly. Brandon was walking back over to them with Lady Ashara.

"What the hell is he doing?" Ned frantically whispered, sounding like a hysteric goose. 

"I don't know." Lyanna replied quickly. "Sit up properly. Fix your hair."

Ned quickly sat up without complaint. He didn't know whether to be angry or embarrassed or to just flee from the Hall.

Brandon moved his chair and put another beside it. The two of them say down. Nobody said anything for a moment until Brandon said, "Well, Ned?"

Ashara smiled confidently at them, deep dimples appearing in her cheeks. Her layered raven black hair tumbled down her shoulder like fine silk, shorter than most women's hair. Her eyes were an alluring shade of violet than glimmered prettily and her skin tanned golden.

"Yes?" He said awkwardly, resisting the urge to sink back into his chair. All he wanted was to hide under the blankets in his bed and sleep until the tournament ended.

"This is Lady Ashara Dayne. She's very nice, why don't you introduce yourself?"

"Bran," Lyanna whispered exasperatedly. She glanced at Lady Ashara then introduced herself. Benjen and Howland followed in her lead and greeted her.

"It's wonderful to meet you." She said, a dornish accent tickling her words. "I've never met anyone from the North before. I love your accents. They sound so entrancing."

"I like your accent too," Lyanna replied. "It's sounds so different." 

"This is my brother Ned. He's a bit quiet," Brandon said helpfully after a silence fell over the table. "I need to get a proper drink, why don't you take Lady Ashara to dance in my absence, Ned?"

Ned stared at his brother for a moment. He regretted ever thinking his brother would intentionally betray him. 

"That sounds lovely," Lady Ashara said as she stood up, an easy smile gracing her lips. She reached out and took Ned's hand, making it feel like they had switched roles and he was the fair maiden. 

He glanced down at their held hands as they walked over to the dance floor. His pale hand contrasting against the warm olive of hers.

He returned to his bench after sharing a short dance with Lady Ashara. He was staring at the floor and smiling stupidly despite his pride. 

"How was it?" Brandon asked eagerly, nudging his shoulder teasingly.

Ned smiled through his blush. "It was fine. Now, shut up,"

Most noise in the great hall silenced, leaving everyone else to notice, quiet themselves and look around confusedly.

They followed most people's gaze to the head table. Prince Rhaegar and King Aerys we're staring imposingly at each other. The prince was looking at his father exasperatedly, nearly angrily but not quite. He noticed the silence gathered in the hall and composed himself, looking away.

The king smirked. He looked at the many people staring back at him and a sudden, short chuckle escaped him. He flicked his finger at somebody behind the table. The person walked off then quickly reappeared back with a shiny golden harp.

Prince Rhaegar seemed very unimpressed and looked out at everyone tiredly. He said something offhandedly to his father, Ned couldn't tell what but saw his lips moving.

The king laughed and looked back out at his audience. "How about my son end tonight's celebrations with a song?"

Prince Rhaegar looked ready to send the person holding his harp away but there was already a scattered clapping spreading throughout the hall.

He saw many women in particular, looking quite eager and on the edge of their seats. He also noticed many dark looks lingering in the eyes of the men seated besides them.

He turned to Lyanna curiously, wondering if she would be acting similarly. She was sat back in her seat, arms over her chest with an expectant look in her eyes. 

They had of course heard much about the crown prince through the word of others. He didn't think Lyanna had ever been interested in the prince or any other boy for that matter, she found most men to be conceited or simpleminded and wasn't shy about saying so. 

The tales surrounding Prince Rhaegar were continuously different depending who retold them. He had heard a hundred versions of the man so had no true judgment about him. 

"Now, what should he play?" The king asked. 

The prince looked back at his father again and muttered something quietly.

"No, you must sing. I demand it, Rhaegar," King Aerys sat back and thought for a few moments before saying, "How about that Jenny song? I like that one." 

Many people started clapping again. Prince Rhaegar grabbed his harp carefully and set it down on the table. His silver hair slid over his face and concealed his annoyed expression. He rested his fingers on the harp strings and began to play a relaxed melody.

High in the halls of the kings who are gone

Jenny would dance with her ghosts

The ones she had lost and the ones she had found

And the ones who had loved her the most

The ones who'd been gone for so very long

She couldn't remember their names

They spun her around on the damp old stones

Spun away all her sorrow and pain

And she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave

Never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave

They danced through the day

And into the night through the snow that swept through the hall

From winter to summer then winter again

'Til the walls did crumble and fall

And she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave

Never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave

And she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave

Never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave

High in the halls of the kings who are gone

Jenny would dance with her ghosts

The ones she had lost and the ones she had found

And the ones

Who had loved her the most

The song ended, most people stayed silent and still for a few moments afterwards. There were quiet sniffles throughout the hall and even some knights had teary eyes though they quickly wiped them and looked away.

The king clapped, then everyone else was clapping. The prince looked down, avoiding everyone's sight and hardly acknowledging the applause. He placed his baby daughter Rhaenys on his lap and let her play the strings on his harp.

Ned looked back at his siblings. He could still hear faint scratches of his voice in his head. He hadn't ever heard anything quite so sad. 

Benjen nudged Lyanna and chuckled. "You're crying."

Her head snapped up and she quickly wiped her eyes and cheeks. 

Benjen laughed some more. "Fawning over the handsome prince now? Who would've thought a prince and his harp could make you weep,"

She glared at him embarrassedly. "I did not weep."

Benjen would never let it go. He would make it his duty to remind Lyanna of her tears every time she upset him. Ned almost felt bad for his sister but he found the situation too amusing. 

Brandon sniggered beside them. Lyanna glared at him too. Lyanna looked around at everyone at their table insecurely and anyone who was watching her looked away suddenly. 

Benjen laughed again so Lyanna grabbed the nearest goblet and poured it over his head before he had the chance to embarrass her again.

Brandon couldn't hold back the laughter that escaped him, along with everyone else at their table and even some at other tables near them. Willam Dustin patted and rubbed Brandon's back so he wouldn't stop suffocate from laughing so hard. 

Benjen's wide-eyed face became noticeable through the dripping red curtain of wine. She smirked in accomplishment. Lyanna placed the empty goblet back on the table then sat further away so she wouldn't get sticky from the wine dripping off her brother. 

Ned was amused but also didn’t want to make a mockery of his house in front of hundreds of highborns but with a quick glance around the Hall be saw that nobody seemed to even care about the sudden noise coming from their table. A smile found its way onto his lips and he laughed along with siblings, feeling warmth in his chest as the evening turned to an end.


	3. Rhaegar I | Oaths of Honour

Rhaegar found himself standing in an unfamiliar place. The walls around him were built of rough pale bricks the air felt heavy. In the middle of the chamber, there was a large wooden bed dripping with blood.

He started at the bed, morbidly curious about what had happened there. He moved toward it. His feet made no sound as he stepped on the wooden floor. He paused for a moment, not feeling quite right, but let his curiosity lead him over to the bed. 

There were blue petals scattered across the bloody sheets; some of them had become red from the blood. He reached down to touch one but his fell fell through it and the bed dissolved like thick mist.

The chamber got darker and darker and began disappearing all around him. When the light returned, he was someplace new, standing before the tall crimson doors, looking into the throne room at King’s Landing.

Heavy curtains were drawn over all the windows and the candles had nearly dimmed away, casting the throne room in nearly complete darkness. Through the shadows, he could see his father King Aerys hunched over in the iron throne muttering nonsense.

Rhaegar took a deep breath and stepped through the doors, glancing around the room cautiously as he did. Clanking footsteps appeared from a corner in the darkness and they got louder and louder until a man dressed in golden armour emerged from the darkness.

His father stood up from the throne to defend himself, but the knight was fast and slashed the king’s throat with a quick swipe of his sword. He dropped to the floor, scratching at his throat frantically as he tried crawling down the steps, leaving a trail of smeared blood behind him.

“Father!” Rhaegar sped towards him but stopped abruptly. . . It was a dream, he thought to himself, there was nothing he could do to help, he could only watch.

The crown tipped off his father’s head and made echoey clangs as it tumbled down the steps, landing right at Rhaegar’s feet. He stared down at the crown once worn by King Aegon the Unworthy, then King Daeron the Good, before it found itself atop his father’s head.

He looked up to see who the knight was, but he was gone, his father had gone, the iron throne had gone, the throne room had vanished as quickly as it appeared. He was in water next, deep murky water, maybe a lake or a river.

He held his breath tried swimming to safety but his legs seemed to feel weighed down and numb. He sank further and further despite his futile attempts to swim. His limbs simply had no strength. It got darker and darker, he began seeing shimmering red spots and the same petals from the chamber floating around him.

He shot up in his bed, covered in a layer of sweat and gasping for breath. He wasn’t sure how long he stayed in his bed, trying to settle his breaths and decipher his dream that was very clearly prophetic.

Why did that knight slash his father’s throat, he wondered? Why was that bed covered in blood and blue roses; what happened in that brick chamber that his dreams showed it to him?

“Prince Rhaegar,” Someone called from outside his tent.

He brushed his fingers through his hair and rubbed the sweat from his face in a hopeless attempt to make himself look presentable. “Come in,”

Jon Connington entered his tent. He was dressed in blue and bronze silks and his bright red hair was tied back. “The king has demanded your presence.”

“Now?”

He nodded.

“You don’t suppose it’s important?” Rhaegar asked. He was hardly presentable enough to show himself in public.

Jon shrugged. “I wouldn’t know, my prince. I doubt he’s angry. He jested with Lord Chelsted earlier and plans to make an appearance at the jousts later,”

Rhaegar grimaced as he pushed the sheets off his body and sat on the edge of his bed. “That’s odd.” He sighed and rubbed his face.

“Indeed,”

“Could you inform my father that I’ll see to him shortly?”

Jon bowed his head, “I’ll see you at the jousts, my prince,” and he left the tent.

The sounds of people scurrying around outside, talking and the clanking of swords and tourney sticks indicated it was later in the day. He must have slept in.

Servants came to his tent and filled his bath with steaming water. He washed himself quickly, not spending as much time bathing as he often did. He dressed himself as fast as he could and left his hair damp.

Ser Arthur of the kingsguard was standing guard outside his tent and accompanied him to his father’s tent. “The king requested your company near an hour ago,”

“I had to get myself ready,”

“I doubt the king will be pleased to hear he was left waiting so you could spend an hour making yourself look pretty,”

His father’s tent was rather far from Rhaegar’s. No doubt he was convinced he would kill him in his sleep if they were too close.

Arthur gave him a worried look then asked, “Have you had another of those dreams? You look troubled.”

“You notice too much,” He sighed. He gave him a long look then nodded. “I saw something that I don’t understand—a bed. . . in the middle of a brick chamber,”

“Maybe your dreams are trying to tell you to bed a girl?” Arthur suggested, smiling immaturely.

Rhaegar rolled his eyes. “It was covered in blood—and don’t you dare say what I’m sure you’re thinking.”

Arthur grinned then laughed, his eyes narrowing. “I wasn’t going to say anything—that was all you, my prince.”

They walked in silence for a while, then Arthur said, “It seemed everyone enjoyed their evening at the feast last night.”

“I would hope so,” Rhaegar responded. “My father was struggling to compose himself towards the end.”

“There’s still a week for him to fuck up.”

He glanced around at the knights and their squires, the chattering ladies scurrying past in groups, the servants rushing around doing duties. . . “We can talk about this further when we’re alone.”

Arthur nodded in agreement. “Everyone is excited for the jousts today. Some are already gathering by the tourney field adding their names to the lists. At least a hundred are already down there with their horses. It will be a long day.”

“Will you be joining them, Arthur?”

“Of course. The king wants all his kingsguard competing. You are too, of course?”

Rhaegar nodded. “Obviously.”

There were twelve knights standing guard outside the king’s tent; three of them were of the kingsguard, the rest were simple knights who the king trusted.

They all moved aside for Rhaegar to enter. Arthur followed behind him but was held back by Ser Oswell Whent. “The king doesn’t want anyone inside.”

Rhaegar hesitated away from the tent and looked at Ser Oswell. “Why not?”

“Who am I to know?” He asked in a hushed tone. “It should be fine. The king is in high spirits. I doubt he’s planning anything malicious,”

Rhaegar entered the tent, thinking about how he was alone and wondering whether his father had something to tell him he wanted nobody else knowing of.

Aerys was sitting on a velvet seat beside a small table; there was a jug of wine and a bowl of fruit on it. “Come my son. Take a seat.” He ordered, his voice not tickled by his usual grumpiness. “I have matters to discuss with you,”

Rhaegar sat across from him. “What matters, your grace?”

Aerys picked up the jug and poured them both some wine. Rhaegar held his goblet stiffly.

“Tywin’s son will become an official member of the kingsguard today.”

Rhaegar immediately understood his father’s odd giddiness. He would be taking away Tywin Lannister’s heir and having him give up his future to protect his father’s nemesis.

“He’s fifteen. And green. He won’t provide anything any other boy his age could.” He shook his head at his father’s foolishness.

He would lose any remaining support from the Westerlands and hopefully they would turn their allegiance to Rhaegar.

“Don’t you think I know that, Rhaegar,” Aerys said sharply. “You think I accepted the boy’s offer for the protection he offers me?” He scoffed. “Ridiculous. He’s but a boy of five and ten like you said; he couldn’t offer me shit.”

“Why are you doing this then?” Rhaegar asked with false curiosity.

Aerys grinned ferally. “Tywin will have no choice but to name the imp as his successor and I will have his prized son as a hostage should he rebel against me.”

His father had clearly given his decision some thought and Rhaegar doubted there was nobody else suggesting such things to him—his father was hardly capable of cooking up something so meticulous by himself.

Imagine the shame, he thought. Tywin Lannister was as proud a man as the lion on his house sigil. Perhaps this would take that arrogance done a notch.

“Why would Jaime give up being Tywin’s heir?” He asked skeptically.

“Who am I to know?” Aerys spat.

Rhaegar shut his eyes resignedly. “You might lose the support of the Westerlands, your grace.”

“I don’t care! I have Jaime, there’s nothing they can do!”

“Is that all, your grace?” Rhaegar asked.

Aerys stared at him darkly. “No. I have something else to discuss with you.”

Rhaegar swallowed thickly and held his hands together. “And what is that, your grace?”

“I refuse to pretend like I’m unaware that you’re planning something here at Harrenhal.”

“Why would you think such a thing?”

“Don’t act ignorant! I’m not stupid!” He snapped. “Why would you hide that you are funding the tournament unless you were planning something?”

How did he find out, he wondered? He was so careful and private about such affairs. Maybe Lord Varys or Lord Chelsted snooped into his personal matters and confided in his father.

“I took a loan from the Iron Bank for personal reasons; I have no hand in the funding of the tournament.”

“What personal reasons did you require such a large loan for?”

Silence fell over them.

“The population in King’s Landing has grown massively in the past years—they’re demanding new employment and constructions—homes, taverns, bathhouses. . . So many live on the streets, I didn’t think it was a good look for you to have your people living on the streets and surviving off of scraps, so I decided to step in,”

“And such a thing required such a large loan, did it?” Aerys grumbled. He picked up his goblet and chugged down some wine.

He nodded. “I was surprised too,”

He nodded, looking rather disgruntled. “Well, you can see yourself out then. I expect your presence at the tourney field shortly—Jaime will be taking his vows there.”

Rhaegar left the tent exhaling in relief. He didn’t want to think about what would’ve happened if he hadn’t thought of something to excuse the loan. He would have to pay for such constructions in the city with his own coin to further prove his innocence.

He would have to be more careful if someone uncovered such a secret. Ser Oswell, Lord Whent, his wife Elia Martell, Arthur Dayne, Jon Connington… He trusted them all to keep his secrets. They wouldn’t betray him. It must have been someone else; perhaps one of his father’s spies?

A crowd of curious common people and highborn gathered around the king and his kingsguard. Ser Gerold Hightower stood closest to king, hand on the pommel sword and not letting anyone close to the king.

Arthur Dayne stood beside Rhaegar. The ancestral sword Dawn of House Dayne was sheathed in his scabbard, pale as milkglass and as sharp as Valyrian steel.

Ser Jonothor Darry stood with his brother Willem who served as the master-at-arms for House Targaryen. Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Lewyn Martell were closest to the crowd of people, making sure they didn’t get too close and occasionally speaking with them.

Ser Oswell Whent was the last knight of the kingsguard in attendance. His dark blonde hair was pulled back neatly for the first time in a long while and his hand rested confidently on his hip.

Jaime Lannister said the kingsguard oath without a single mistake. It was blatantly obvious to Rhaegar that the boy had practiced receiving the white cloak beforehand.

The crowd cheered and clapped as the white cloak was draped over Jaime’s shoulders. Aerys grinned at the crowd, mistaking the cheers for the newest kingsguard to be for him, while Jaime looked torn between smugness and flustered at the attention being bestowed upon him.

“I suppose this will secure Tywin Lannister’s loyalty to you then?” Arthur asked quietly.

Rhaegar glanced back at him. “Lord Lannister already claims to support my claim to the throne and my father’s demise…this will just make certain nothing will change his mind.”


	4. Jaime I | knight of lies

Jaime stood before the king nervously. He was standing as straight as he could with his chest lifted slightly, trying to mimic the way he’d seen Arthur Dayne standing.

He was wearing his new polished kingsguard with a long swaying white cloak. He had dreamed of donning the white cloak since he was a boy, never did he think he would actually ever would.

“Ser Jaime,” the king called.

Jaime looked up but didn’t make eye contact. His heart was fluttering nervously in his chest. “Your grace?”

“I’m afraid I left my queen and young son alone and unprotected in the Red Keep,”

Jaime nodded.

“I worry for their safety,” the king paused and stared at Jaime, making eye contact. “As your first duty as a kingsguard, I must ask that you ride to the capital to ensure the safety of Queen Rhaella and Prince Viserys.”

He couldn’t believe his luck. They were calling the tourney at Harrenhal the greatest tournament in the Seven Kingdoms. Noblemen from all over the realm were in attendance, and the king wanted to send him away.

Jaime glanced to his side where Ser Gerold Hightower was standing with a stern look on his face.

Jaime swallowed disappointedly. When do I leave, your grace?”

“Tonight.”

“Couldn’t you send somebody else?” He asked frantically, hesitating when he saw the angry look on the king’s face. “I only mean, the jousts—“

“You will leave tonight, Lannister.” He growled. “There will be no time for you to show off in the jousts. You can travel with any men of your choosing.”

“You grace, please,”

Tywin Lannister would have slapped Jaime if he saw him begging the king. Jaime’s face was heating up from embarrassment but he had to at least try to persuade the king.

“You will obey my orders, Lannister! My wife and son are left unguarded while your loiter and whine!”

Jaime flinched. He nodded and glanced to his side where Ser Gerold was watching him. “Forgive me, you grace. I will leave to pack my things and be gone shortly.”

Jaime frustratedly made his way back to his tent and called Adam Marbrand to help him take off his armour.

“You’re going tonight?” Addam asked.

Jaime nodded. “The king’s cruel.”

He rolled his eyes as he pulled off Jaime’s chest plate. “It’s just a stupid joust.”

“If it’s just a stupid joust then I’m sure you won’t be bothered if I brought you back to the capital with me?”

Addam inhaled sharply. “Fine.”

It didn’t take long for Jaime to pack everything away in his chest. He had barely taken anything out as he had only arrived in the Riverlands the day before.

Jaime and Addam walked down to the stables, servants were taking their things down to the stables and their horses were being saddled by stableboys.

Five other men from the Westerlands were accompanying them to the capital. It was easy to get men to leave with him as they all wanted to impress his father by going with him.

They passed the jousting field that was aloud with the cheering and fast hooves. He stopped and stared for a moment, wishing he could be there. 

“Jaime Lannister,”

He quickly spun around and saw Ser Barristan.

“Why aren’t you with everyone at the jousts, Ser?”

“I was ordered to guard the prince but he’s decided to join in on the jousts. I happened to see you and wanted to wish you a safe journey,”

Jaime wished he could see the prince on the jousting field. He hardly ever participated but was very skilled. It would be incredible if he had the opportunity to joust against the prince.

“There will be dozens more jousts for you to show off in.” Ser Barristan said. “Don’t whine like a child because you will be missing one.”

Jaime stared at him incredulously. “People are calling it the greatest tournament in the Seven Kingdoms! Hundreds of noblemen are attending! And I’m being sent away!”

Ser Barristan stood there calmly. “People will hear about you regardless, Lannister. They will be impressed that you were raised to the kingsguard at just fifteen. Most boys are still squires at your age and won’t be knighted until they’re in their twenties.”

Jaime felt his face get warm. He was very proud to have been knighted at fifteen by Ser Arthur Dayne himself. Lots of boys envied him.

“Arthur Dayne is called the best knight in the Seven Kingdoms,” Ser Barristan told him. “He was raised to the kingsguard at seventeen which amazed people. You’re fifteen, regardless of why you have earned your white cloak, people will expect great things from you too,”

Jaime nodded. “I’m sorry for acting immaturely, Ser,”

Ser Barristan grabbed his shoulder. “Act wisely in the capital. You are no longer the young heir of Casterly Rock who can do as he pleases, but a knight of the kingsguard, so you must act like one, Jaime,”

Addam Marbrand shouted for him. “Hurry up, Lannister! We will leave without you!”

“Stay safe, Lannsiter,” Ser Barristan, releasing his houdier and shoving him away.


	5. Lyanna II  | Bloodshed, Bastards and Broken Hearts

The jousting had started by midday and the tourney field was surrounded by hundreds of highborn lords and ladies, knights and their squires and crowds of common folk. The sun was blaring down harshly and the fabric sun shade above the stands did nothing to keep anyone cool. 

Lyanna sat with her brothers and some other northern nobles. Jousting wasn’t a usual activity in the North, so for most, it was their first time watching a joust. 

Robert Baratheon was down by the closest pavilion, watching the competition up close whenever he wasn’t participating in it. He had unseated everyone who rode against him and was quickly gaining fame amongst those watching on. 

She personally thought he was being unfair by only competing against younger and inexperienced boys he knew he could overpower. It didn’t make sense to her. Robert was truly great at jousting and could probably unseat just as many even if they were proper knights. 

“Robert doesn’t owe anything to his competitors,” Brandon told her. “He might be playing unfairly but he’s just doing it to ensure he makes it far enough in the tourney, he’ll probably start riding against high lords and knights in a few days.” 

“But it’s not fair,” she grumbled. “He’s good at jousting. He could probably beat a kingsguard if he wanted to. He doesn’t need to cheat.” 

“He’s not cheating.” Brandon said, rolling his eyes. “Robert knows his competition. He knows who’s better than him and who he can beat, he won’t ride against anyone he might lose too. Everyone’s doing the same as him.” 

“Ser Barristan isn’t,” Lyanna stated. “Neither is Prince Rhaegar.” 

“Ser Barristan is too honourable for that. It’s what he’s known for. And the prince is probably just trying to make himself look good.” 

“You don’t know that.” Lyanna said. “He might be genuine.” 

“Maybe,” Brandon said tensely. “Either way, I don’t care.” 

“You should care. He’ll be your king one day.” 

Brandon stayed silent for a minute then stood up. “I need to piss.” 

She watched him leave the stands and huffed annoyedly. Left by herself, she watched as Jeffrey Mallister unseated one of Lord Whent’s sons then be unseated by Robert right after. When Brandon still hadn’t returned after almost half an hour, she looked around for another of her brothers. Ben was the closest; sitting a few seats behind her, his face red and shiny with sweat as he spoke with one of their father’s bannermen. 

“Ben!” She called. He looked down at her. “Come sit with me!” 

He made no attempt at arguing and hopped down the stands, carefully avoiding bumping anyone on his way down to her. “Where’s Howland?” She asked as he sat down. 

“He went to get a drink. And what of Brandon? Where is he? Weren’t you sitting together?” “We were. He had to piss but I think he’s gone off somewhere else,” 

“Bothered him that much, eh?” 

She elbowed him in the side. “Shut up,” 

He laughed, rubbing where she nudged him. “Well, no matter how bothersome you are, you will always have me,” 

She rolled her eyes. “Shut it,” 

Howland found them not long later. He walked over, holding a cup of ale in one hand, and sat down grouchily. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked him. 

He said nothing, but pointed toward a pavilion on the other side of the tourney field. She didn’t notice anything off. There were knights huddled around getting ready to joust and squires running around them with drinks and tourney sticks, eager to please. Her gaze moved towards the stands, then she saw some boys leaning over the barrier at the bottom of the stands and cheering for the knights. They boys who attacked Howland. 

“Oh,” 

“We should go over to them,” Ben said, lowering his voice. 

"Then what?” Howland asked, not even glancing toward them and keeping his stare focused on the boys. 

“We can talk to them,” Lyanna suggested. “See if they’re riding in the tourney, maybe? We can unseat them and get revenge that way if they are,” 

Howland looked at her, his mossy eyes wide. “I can’t —” 

“I can,” She cut in, grinning at the mere concept. 

“Do you really want to, My Lady? I don’t want you getting hurt because of me —” 

"Yes, I’m sure. I want to see them in their place as much as you do,” 

Howland glanced across the tourney field. “They’re surrounded by tons of people who will want to defend them.” 

“We're only going to talk to them,” 

“What if they recognise us?” 

“They were drunk,” She stated hesitantly. They certainly wouldn’t be happy to see her after she threatened to shove a tourney stick up one of their arses and accidently bludgeoned another. “They probably won’t recognise us,”   
  
“I can go,” Ben suggested eagerly. “They don’t know me,” 

“You are thirteen,” Howland said simply. 

“And?” He gave Howland an unimpressed look. 

“I don’t want children defending my honour,” 

“Lya’s fourteen and you would let her,” 

Howland looked at them both and sighed. “Fine, but I refuse to be held accountable if anything happens to either of you.” 

They quickly paced down the tourney stands eagerly, filled with nervous adrenaline. 

“Where are you going?” 

They paused in their tracks and turned around to see Ned following close behind with an accusatory look in his eyes. 

“Privvy,” Ben told him. 

Ned’s eyebrow rose, obviously not believing them. “Together?” 

“Separate ones,” Ben attempted to explain. “We just needed to go at the same time. Our bladders must be contagious,” 

Lyanna shut her eyes. “Please just shut up, Ben,” 

He fell silent. 

“We’re going to talk to the boys who attacked Howland,” Lyanna said. 

“That’s stupid,” 

“We want to see if they’re participating in the jousts.” She explained. “If they are, we can get our revenge by unseating them,” 

Ned looked at Howland. “I though you didn’t want to ride in the tourney?” 

Howland nervously held his hands together. “I’m not,” 

Ned crossed his arms over his chest and stared right at Lyanna. “This is the stupidest thing you have ever tried to do, and you have done a lot of stupid things before,” 

Lyanna clenched her fists frustratedly. “Please, Ned! Those boys deserve it! They attacked Howland and threatened me. They could’ve killed him if I didn’t find him!” 

“You could die if you enter the lists, if not then bring shame to our family!” 

“I’ll keep my identity secret. Nobody will now it was me. And I won’t die; I already beat them once--easily!” 

“Why don’t we find Bran and ask him? He’s a man, at least he won’t get into trouble if it goes wrong,” 

Lyanna didn’t know what emotion she was feeling, but it made her want to yell. “Why? On horseback, I am better than him! He’s more likely to be killed than I am, Ned!” 

“Stop shouting; someone will hear,” Howland interrupted before Ned could say anything back. 

With his voice lower and eyes apologetic, he said, “This is a stupid idea. I just don’t want anything to happen to you. Why can you not just forget about those boys? Why do you want to risk everything just to put them on their place?” 

“Ned, you’re acting like me doing this will cause a war.” 

“Are we doing this, or not?” Ben asked. “If not, I'm going back into the shade.” 

“Let's go,” Lyanna decided. 

“I’m coming with you,” 

Lyanna stared at her older brother for a moment then smiled. “Come on then,” 

They walked underneath the stands so to stay out of the blaring sun and made their way to where the three boys were. 

Ben hopped up onto the stands and snuck in beside he boys without bringing attention to himself. Lyanna moved closer and peeked through the cuts in the stands so she could watch them but and also hear what they were saying. 

“Who do you think will win it?” The fat boy from House Blount asked. 

“One of Walter Whent’s sons for sure!” Haigh replied. 

“They ain’t even that good,” Blount remarked, snorting. “It’ll be one of the kingsguard knights,” 

“Or the prince,” Frey added. 

Blount nodded. “He’s really good. Baratheon too,” 

“Who do you think will win, boy?” Haigh asked, looking straight at Ben. 

“One of the kingsguard,” Ben spoke. 

“You think?” Haigh asked. “Which one?” 

“Maybe Ser Barristan?” 

Blount nodded. “Barristan sure is damn good for an old man,” 

“So is Arthur Dayne,” Haigh put in. “If he decides to enter the lists, he’ll probably have a chance at winning too!” 

“Are any of you entering the lists?” Ben asked. 

Lyanna leaned closer. 

“Don’t think I will,” Blount said. 

Lyanna and Howland looked at each other worriedly. 

“He’s too fat! And he can’t ride horses,” Haigh laughed. "The knights we serve don't want us entering—they think we're too young and inexperienced and would make a fool of them."

"Are you joining the lists?” 

“Well, I’ve never jousted before; it would be a bit reckless of me to join the lists without any experience,” Ben said. 

“Never?” Haigh asked, eyes wide. “Are you even highborn?” 

“I am. Jousting isn’t very common where I’m from,” Ben said. 

“Where are you from?” Blount asked skeptically. 

“The North,” 

She rolled her eyes. Would it have been so difficult for him to make something up? 

“What house are you from?” Frey asked. “My father’s Lord Erenford. He’s a pretty big deal; you’ve probably heard of him,” 

Behind her, Ned snorted. “Never heard of him,” 

Gasps erupted from across the stands. Lyanna peaked over the stands and saw a man had fallen from his horse after a joust and knocked themselves out. “Ben!” She called while everyone was distracted and together, they ran back to the stands. 

The next day, they snuck away from the stands one by one and met in the outskirts of a nearby forest. Benjen had found some makeshift armour and Howland gave her his shield to use; a grotesque weirwood tree was painted over the splintery wood. 

  
“Is the shield too obvious?” Ned asked. 

“There are hundreds of northerners here, Ned, nobody will question Lord Stark’s daughter before any of them,” She assured him. 

Ned helped her into the leg armour and fastened the breastplate so tight that she couldn’t breathe deeply. Howland’s face flushed when his fingers brushed against her upper-arms while helping her into the rerebraces. She tied her back at the nape of her neck and put on the helm. 

“Imagine what father would say if he saw what we were doing?” Lyanna giggled. 

Ned looked at her seriously. “He wouldn’t say anything. He’d collapse on the ground from fainting,” 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Howland asked her. 

“I’m sure,” 

He stared at her, eyebrows furrowed and looking rather conflicted then said, “The reasoning for the tournament is a farce, do you know this?” 

“I don’t understand.” Lyanna wasn’t sure what he was meaning to tell her. Sure, she had heard some theorise that Prince Rhaegar had arranged and funded the tournament so he could host a grand council with all the high lords to overrun King Aerys, but those were just rumours, and likely untrue. 

“Only bloodshed, bastards and broken things will arise from this,” 

Although she didn’t quite understand, she could hear the worry and fervour in his voice and nodded. 

She considered all his tales about magic and visions, the green men and his stay in the Isle of Faces... even if it all were true, why would he think she needed to be warned about the prince’s ambitions? She looked up at him, swallowed, and nodded. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so incredibly sorry that it has taken me this long to update this fic. I was stuck with only a few sentenced for this chapter for so long and couldn't manage to get anything more written down. I'm so tired as I write this; I forced myself out of bed to finish writing this and get it published, so I'm so sorry if there are any grammatical errors, I just really needed to publish immediately before I overthink it and rewrite the entire thing.
> 
> EDIT: I just updated this chapter; I added more detail, the only significant change was in the ending :)


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